


Rivulets

by aleria



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:54:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleria/pseuds/aleria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen and the Inquisitor are stranded in the woods, and Cullen finds himself reconsidering their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rivulets

Sometimes I think the Orlesians are right about Ferelden. It’s a miserable place, filled with dirt and rain and war. If I take a deep breath through my nose I find they are right about the smell too: wet dog. Or is that me?

I’m sweating, despite the cold and rain. We are resting under an overhanging rock somewhere in the northern Ferelden wilderness. It’s just me and the Inquisitor, who is half lying, half propped up on muddy crest of our little enclosure. I reflect that I ought to lie him down, though the ground would soak him through. I am not ready to commit to building a pallet for him. First I have to think.

We are deep in Venatori occupied woods. We knew they were in these parts when we set out with our party of soldiers, but we underestimated the numbers. My men and women were slaughtered easily and I opted retreat with Inquisitor Lavellan. The other two men who retreated with us died from their wounds. Now the Inquisitor might die, too.

I dare not go any farther today. Lavellan is bleeding through the bandage I hastily tied to his upper leg. It’s a bad spot for a cut and he has lost a lot of blood. If he moves any more, he will surely bleed out. No, we must stay here and wait for him to heal. 

I cannot run up a plague flag, either. As far as we could tell, the Venatori camps were spread throughout the area. They would see our distress before the Inquisition scouts. The only hope was that a lone scout would happen upon us in secret, but the likelihood of that was slim.

I am looking at Lavellan’s leg while I think. His armor hides the worst of the blood that is soaking the bandage bright red. I want to redress it, but he needs to lie down first. Before he lies down, I need to make a pallet. 

There is a place between two rocks under the outcropping that is flat and shielded from the weather. I cast about the area for dry plant matter to place there first: dead leaves, straw and moss. Nothing is completely dry and everything smells, but it will have to do. I work quickly, tapping into my soldier survival training. I can hear an old drill sergeant's voice in my head, but I’m not sure what he’s saying. He’s probably telling me I’m too slow.

I know I am being too slow. But If I give in to that thought, I will start to panic. I am barely keeping it together as it. I try not to look at Lavellan until I am ready to move him: he’s probably in worse condition that I originally thought. He might die out here in the rain. 

He is dead weight when I carry him over to his pallet. He’s smaller than I am-- his armor accounts for most of his bulk. Is it awkward getting him into a comfortable position on the ground, and I know that I am going to have to take off the layers of steel and mail and leather. I chance a look at his face.

Inquisitor Lavellan is considered handsome by elf standards. His high cheekbones are complemented by large features: big eyes, full lips and a strong jaw. He has a tattoo over his left eye-- a vallaslin. From close up I realize now that there is a little image of a dragon curling over his dark brows. Half of his face is plastered with his wet, brown hair and I flick it off carefully. His tanned skin looks pale, I realize now. He has a cut on his lower lip that is making it swell. A splatter of dark mud-- or is it blood?-- marks his right jaw. A network of droplets covers his forehead.

A fever, I realize. I pull off my armored glove and feel his skin. He is hot to the touch and will need something to keep the fever down. I glance down at his leg again: can it have festered already? It has been nearly a day since the battle. That is long enough for things to turn for the worst. 

I can’t panic yet. Not yet. Working takes my mind off of dark thoughts. I start to unclasp and un-belt the plate armor on the elf. Despite jostling and moving his body, Lavellan does not wake up. He makes small noises like a child in a dream, moaning and muttering to leave him alone, but I ignore it. I don’t want to see the leader of the Inquisition reduced to such a pathetic state. I pretend he is completely unconscious and continue.

Once his armor and mail is removed, I am startled by how small the Inquisitor really is. Elves are usually leaner than humans, but I seldom witnessed them swinging a longsword half as long as their own height. I took his strength for granted and now, seeing him bloodied and pale, I worry for his constitution. The panic is starting to bubble to the surface and it makes me fumble with the bandages that I had tied the day before. They are soaked and dirty and I have to carefully peel them away. Lavellan utters a small cry that makes me think of a wounded animal and I feel an ache in my chest.

The wound is not clean, but I have water and elfroot and I apply my knowledge of battleside first aid to make the best of the situation. I am relieved to see that the cut is not deep, but when I clean away with dried matter it bleeds badly and I am forced to work quickly. I pack the wound with as much elfroot as I can and wrap the whole mess with the last fresh bandage I have. It is not a pretty job, but I’m sure it is good enough for my old seargeant. 

Lavellan shivers and I instinctively take off my heavy cloak and put it over his body. His fever is making his eyes slide around under his lids and he flutters his thick lashes from time to time. My work is not done: I have to make him a tonic.

Elfroot is a miracle, I reflect as I pick through the nearby underbrush for fresh herbs. It grows nearly everywhere in Ferelden and can treat so many illnesses. But it is a fickle plant, and doesn’t take well to mass cultivation. The plants seem to hate overcrowding and it is nearly impossible to find two plants within a square furlong. Luckily I find the one plant that grows in the vicinity of our outcropping. I am careful to take only what I need and I leave the rest to grow. It is likely I will need more later.

I know a fire would be seen by Venatori scouts, but I have to heat the water somehow. I carry a little clay pot with me and it is the perfect size for boiling a mouthful of water. There’s a stream not far from us, but I use the water in my flask instead-- I will make a trip for more water after the Inquisitor is taken care of. I then build the most modest of fires, careful to shield the smoke so that it curls towards the rock and not into the open air. The wet sticks hiss menacingly but they eventually catch and I put the clay pot just above the flames. As the water heats up I slowly rip up the elfroot and drop the remanence into the mixture. It smells like a triage when I am done, which reassures me. Drinking this should treat the Inquisitor’s fever.

After dousing the fire, I take the hot liquid to the sickbed and consider how to get the elf to drink. I have seen countless nurses do just this: propping up the patient’s head and slowly pouring the beverage into his mouth. There is just enough room by Lavellan’s head to sit on my haunches. It is uncomfortable with my armor on and I make a note to remove my own when I have the time. Lavellan’s hair is wet at the back when I slide my hand under it. His skin is hot and his breath is too loud. When I slowly lift his head, he twitches and his eyes flutter open just for a moment to reveal his startlingly bright eyes. I wonder if purple is a normal colour for elven eyes.

It is an effort to make most of the mixture goes into the elf’s mouth. Some of it dribbles down the side of his face but I can see his throat moving to swallow some of it. It is enough for me to relax a little. I will make him more later, and eventually he will get better.

He has to get better, I repeat to myself as I start to make camp. He has to live. I have to bring him back to Skyhold. 

Months ago I would have said that the Inquisitor was replaceable. Afterall, it was a figurehead position, meant only to inspire confidence and act as a mouth for the war council. Lavellan was an odd choice to begin with, being a Dalish elf who had little to no ties with the Chantry. But he has proven himself time and time again, not only on the battlefield but in the war room. He turned out to be intelligent, empathetic and skilled. 

The thing that sets him above, however, and proves he is right to lead the Inquisition is his universal popularity. Everyone loves Jhurras Lavellan. Several members of the Inquisition had their prejudices to begin with, especially those who had no love of the Dalish, but they fell in love like everyone else. Somehow Lavellan has won over even the most cantankerous of warlords and the most haughty of nobles.

I am no exception. I watch him as he sleeps fitfully on his pallet like a mother watching her child. I don’t just want him to survive, I need him too. We all do.

It is raining again by the time I have arranged a little camp for us. It is nothing more than a few branches to hide us from view and a clearing free from wet underbrush where I can sleep. The rock overhang is several feet up, so it does nothing to stop the wind, but it does wonders for the rain. We are mostly dry, Lavellan most of all, but that is the most important. He is the most important.

The panic is no longer an immediate problem, but it is hiding just under the surface. I have identified the source: so much is riding on the survival of the Inquisitor. I am barely holding together under the pressure of keeping him alive. If I fail, I might cause the entire Inquisition to fail. If Lavellan dies, we might all die. It is a lot of consider.

But I am a war commander, and I am used to having people’s lives in my hands. It means I am very good at ignoring the panic and getting things done under pressure. So why do I feel a sinking in my chest whenever I look at him?

I sleep badly that night. It is cold, and my cloak is with Lavellan. I consider sleeping close to him as we would in survival training, but he is wedged between two rocks and I don’t want to move him. I wake up in the middle of the night when the rain stops and I am forced to reconsider. I can just make out the stars beyond the treetops outside our enclosure. Without the clouds it is clear and cold. I shiver again and look at Lavellan. He is very still.

For a moment I wonder if he is dead and my breath catches. I scramble over to him faster than a fleeing hare and put a hand on his bare arm. It is still warm, but covered in goosebumps. He is shivering worse than I am.

When we were lost in the mountains near Skyhold we were forced to share body heat. The men piled together in a few tents like pigs in a sty. Why, then, am I so hesitant to sleep close to the Inquisitor? I move him, anyway, because survival is more important than that nagging feeling at the back of my head. I only have to move him a few feet before there is enough room in the rock wedge to work my way in. I cover us both in the cloak and feel blissfully warm.

I suddenly know what that nagging feeling is. I think back to a few weeks ago, when my relationship with the Inquisitor was forever changed. Until that moment, we had been comrades verging on friends. Lavellan is easy to get along with and plays chess no less, so we enjoyed several meeting in the Skyhold courtyard playing and talking of missions in a less than serious way. I enjoyed my time with him, and no doubt he did too.

However, he enjoyed those meeting even more than I had realized. He told me such and I had been speechless, like an idiot. It had never occurred to me that a man might look at me in the same way a woman would. It wasn’t that I doubted such a thing existed-- it was that I never imagined myself to be the object of anyone’s affections, much less another man. It caught me off guard, and I barely managed to respond politely. No matter how politely I said it, however, I was disappointing the Inquisitor and he did his best to hide his feelings. But I saw the look in his eyes and I suddenly felt like an ass, and our relationship was never the same again.

And now I am lying with him like I would a lover and I keep reminding myself that it is only for survival. So I try to enjoy the warmth, and not think about the look of sorrow in those purple eyes. 

I will make it up to him by keeping him alive, I thought. At least he smells better than I do.

\-----------------------------

He is awake when I open my eyes. He is staring, unseeing, at the rock ceiling above. He’s alive, because I can see his chest rise and fall gently. His fever is gone and there is colour in his cheeks. He needs to shave.

When he looks at me it suddenly breaks my train of thought and I sit up too quickly. The back of my neck feels hot and I rub it as if there is something there. Then I realize the Inquisitor is smiling ever so slightly. “Your fever is gone,” I say almost to myself. I am more relieved than I admit.

“Is it?” asks Lavellan. His voice is not normal: it is thick and rough like he hasn’t spoken in a week. “I still feel like shit. Where are we, in a bog?” He is the only Dalish I have met who can complain about the absence of luxuries. We have been spoiling him.

“Might as well be,” I reply, removing myself from the cramped sleeping arrangements and looking around. It is bright out-- much later in the morning than I initially thought. It is no longer raining, but a cloud cover hides the sun.

“The others?” Lavellan asks next. That is just like him, to consider the soldiers even when he didn’t know their names. It was a clan mentality that he carried with him everywhere. “Did they make it?”

I shake my head, feeling less sad than I should. I have lost a lot of soldiers over the years and dying on the battlefield was not the worse way to go. But Lavellan’s lips turn into a frown and I can feel a pull on my heart. He looks away and considers the rocky outcropping again in a way that tells me he is lost in thought.

“I have rations,” I offer, to break the silence. “But I will need to hunt. I’m guessing you still can’t move.”

Lavellan smiles then. It isn’t his usual, full smile but a weak crooked thing that tells me he’s still tired. “I’m as useless as a baby.” He closes his eyes again and I wonder if he will sleep. I take the cue to gather my shortbow: while others might be able to trap and fish, my specialty was always bow hunting. The key would be taking down something small and inconspicuous. As an afterthought, I bring a flask of water over to the Inquisitor. He opens his eyes just long enough to take the offer and smile again. I want to return the smile, but it has been a long time since I have.

My shooting goes badly. I haven’t eaten in a day and a half and I discover my own injury just under my left ribcage. It is bruised badly, but I don’t think anything is broken. I was too busy worrying to notice it the day before. As a result my arrows are going the wrong way and I am spending longer seeking lost arrows than hitting targets. A Venatori scout could easily find my fletching and recognize it as Ferelden made. 

In the end I manage to get a pheasant that looks like it had already broken a wing. It is a cheap victory but I am too hungry to care. Despite its injury the bird is plump from summer insects and will carry us over for a meal.

I return to find the Inquisitor propped against a rock, chewing on a green stick that I don’t recognize. He looks pale again which makes my mothering instincts kick in again. “You should lie down,” I say at once. Ironically, I feel my own injury protest when I kneel down to get my knife out of my boot. I try not to wince but Lavellan notices.

“You’re injured,” he notes. I imagine that I hear concern in his tone but it is hard to tell.

“Not so bad as you are,” I say, and I try to brush off my own discomfort by starting to pluck the bird. “I don’t imagine you’ll be able to move for some time.”

“I know,” Lavellan says with a sigh. “I tried to stand when you were gone but I fell over.”

That is just like him, too. I look sharply at him like I would with a new recruit. “You shouldn’t do that,” I said in my best commander voice. It only makes Lavellan smile. 

“Sorry mother,” he says and it reminds me that I am not his commander. “But you were so good at bringing down my fever that I thought you granted me a miracle.” He sighs again in a way that isn’t serious. “Alas, the Chantry grants no such magics to its Templars.”

This makes me frown while I work. I know he is just teasing me, but there is a thread of truth to his words. He had wanted to bring the mage Dorian with us, but I had refused. The eccentric Tevinter went against the nature of the stealth mission this was supposed to be. Of course, his healing magic would come in handy right now.

And he would be better company. I watch Lavellan as he closes his eyes again. Is he thinking about Dorian right now? Before we left Skyhold rumours were starting to arise that Dorian was courting the Inquisitor. It might be nothing-- the nobles who took refuge at the Hold were hungry for the gossip that they had left behind in their courtrooms. I suppose I should be grateful they never found out that the Inquisitor had expressed feelings for me.

Those feelings were gone now, I realized. He didn’t want to be stuck in the woods with a useless Templar. He wanted his mage, for company and for comfort. If Dorian was here, they would be on their way back to Skyhold already.

“I’m sorry I am not Dorian,” I say, trying to sound genuine, and not resentful. It isn’t working. I realize how petty I sound so I focus entirely on the task of trying to skin the fat bird. I am getting blood everywhere. 

After a stretched silence, I can hear Lavellan shifting against the rock. “You should take some elfroot,” he says and when I look he is holding out a different flask. It is small, only enough for a swallow. It would likely heal my bruised ribs.

“Inquisitor,” I say and I can’t help sounding like a commander. “I insist that you drink that. You need it more than me. You fell over, remember?”

I don’t know why, but it makes me happy to hear him laugh. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. But if you keep wincing like that I am going to have to be your nursemaid. If you die, who’s going to save me?”

I snort a laugh, because that’s all I can manage. “Save your own damn self,” I say. “You are the Herald of Andraste, after all.”

“Ugh,” I hear Lavellan groan. I am glad we are talking of something other than Dorian now. “Don’t get me started. I could use some of that divine intervention now, but do you see the clouds parting? No…!” It is no surprise to me to hear him blaspheming in such a way. The Dalish do not worship the Maker, and I can understand why. I have plenty of cause to doubt him myself. 

“Then I guess it’s just you and I,” I say and this time I really do grin. I am trying to look smug, but the smile feels genuine and when I meet Lavellan’s gaze he looks serious. “I hope you can stand it,” I finish lamely. I want it to sound like a joke, but I really do want the Inquisitor to accept my help. I am no mage, but I will bring him back to Skyhold alive.

Lavellan uncorks the flask and takes the drink of elfroot potion. I can see a look of peace come over his face. It will not be enough to help him completely, but it will help. The pheasant I cook over a low fire helps too. It tastes wonderful, even though it has no seasoning and I burn it on one side. I am famished but the Inquisitor only eats a small amount. Afterwards I help him lie down and he falls asleep almost immediately.

It is early afternoon and I am beginning to think this might be a restful stay, albeit damp and cold. With nothing to do for the afternoon but collect water and hunt, I am looking forward to resting and doing some healing of my own.

But the Venatori show up, and I am reminded that we are in enemy territory. As I watch a scouting party pass not far from the stream I feel my Ferelden blood boiling when I consider that these lands used to be safe for my people. I am holding my bow, but I know better than to take on a group of 6 armed men. One of them looks like a mage, too. While I consider myself a pretty good Templar, I know the odds of subduing a caster while fending off 5 swords. So I watch them pass and remind myself not to get comfortable.

I return to our camp and spend even more time hiding it from view. If a scout came upon the Inquisitor they would make short work of him. Worse, they might kidnap him in order to use the strange green mark on his hand for their own nefarious purposes.

I renew my vow to get Lavellan safely back to Skyhold. I must have said it outloud, because in his sleep the Inquisitor mumbles ‘thanks’. I pull the cloak over his shoulders, absently touch the top of his head, and go back to skinning a small rabbit.

It’s cold again that night, but after seeing the scouting party I am determined to not light a fire. Lavellan is no longer feverish, which means he’s awake when we settle down in the semi darkness. Somehow this makes it more awkward, and I feel the need to ask permission to share the cloak.

“It gets rather cold at night,” I say, struggling to sound casual. “So I’ll need to, you know. Like last night.” I am speaking too quickly and I sound like an adolescent. So much for Commander of the Inquisition Forces.

I can’t read Lavellan’s expression in the failing light, but when he shrugs the cloak moves. “I’m so tired,” he says in way of explanation. Whether this is an affirmation or not, I can’t tell. But he does move over to let me lie in the space between him and a rock. 

My whole body feels tense and I am trying to forcefully relax. Lavellan seems to fall asleep right away and I envy him. I can just make out his lips slightly parted and his eyes closed. His profile stands out against the rock beyond and I reflect on the pleasant formation of elven features. I have rarely seen an ugly elf before, I realize. And do they all smell like this? 

Somehow this last thought lulls me to sleep. The wind dies down in the night and a silence settles on the forest. It is hard to believe that this world is at war when there are moments of peace such as these.

\------------------------------------

I wake with my arm stretched over the Inquisitor’s chest. It is warm and comfortable and I pull away immediately. The movement wakes Lavellan and I cover the gesture with a stretch and a yawn. It is not entirely light out, but it is morning enough for me to all but leap out of the cloak and begin my morning routine, such as it is. When I chance a glance back at the Inquisitor, I see he is rising on his elbows and blinking sleepily. His cheeks are red against his otherwise pale complexion.

I am an idiot, I tell myself. I am going to make matters worse. He isn’t thinking about Dorian at all. 

I am having one of those strange moments when I have to concentrate on my breathing. It is times like these that I could use some lyrium, but I stopped taking it weeks ago and I am not going back now. And certainly not because I can’t handle one awkward moment.

“We have some rabbit left,” I say in a voice that is too high. I try to clear my throat which doesn’t help the situation. “I could go hunting. Or fishing.”

“Or have a bath.”

I look quickly at Lavellan who has pulled himself into a sit. He is grinning in a way that doesn’t make him look embarrassed at all. It takes me a moment to register what he said. 

“What?” I ask.

“You stink,” he supplies, and he isn’t just making fun of me. I suddenly feel far more self conscious than I should and take a automatic smell of my arm. He is right. “I’m pretty sure I’m no spring rose myself. But I don’t think I could make it to a stream. Bring me back some water, will you?” 

“Getting used to being an invalid, are we?” I ask, returning some of the banter.

Lavellan grins again. “And some cocoa and pillows, too, if you see any!”

I take care to scout the stream on both sides before chancing a dip into the water. I doubt another Venatori party would come by yet, but I would make it a quick bath just in case. To save time, I bring my knife with me in hopes of spearing a fish. Unfortunately the fish know better than to go near a naked man so I see none and focus on scrubbing the grime off of my body. The water is bitter cold and I am numb by the time I get back to the shore. Shivering, I wash my clothing, too, and put it back on wet. The sun is not out, but I can see breaks in the clouds above that suggest that it will not rain today.

When I chance upon a flock of pheasants and down one on my first try, I am starting to feel good about myself. I am clean, though cold, and carrying breakfast. I am stopped short by voices. 

They have found us, is my first thought. They are speaking in Tevinter, so I know that they are Venatori. I crouch in the underbrush and try to find my bearings. The Venatori are somewhere between where I am hiding and the rock outcropping. With any luck, they are passing through. I wait for several minutes before I realize that the voices are not moving.

Slowly I approach the sounds, taking care to step on moss or rocks in order to mask my approach. The party seems to have gathered in a small clearing that I had avoided camping in for such a reason. They obviously did not worry about enemies, because the place they were stopped stood out like a sore thumb. I had my knife with me as well as my bow, but I itched for my sword and armor. There were only 4 of them, and if I surprised them…

I suddenly notice movement above a boulder on the far side of the clearing. At first I think it’s a bird, but I recognize the ducking movement of someone trying to not be noticed while spying. I curse under my breath. I am going to kill the Inquisitor if he doesn’t kill himself first.

But he has forced my hand. I have to move forward and prepare to attack. If they see him, he will not be able to defend himself properly. I drop the pheasant and draw my knife. It’s no sword, but it is sharp and quick. Just as I approach the edge of the clearing Levallan pulls himself into a stand on the boulder and shouts. The Venatori, of which there are 5, all turn to him and start fumbling with their weapons. Lavellan raises his hand and suddenly a burst of energy erupts from it, knocking the soldiers over.

I am in battle mode now. I am no longer thinking about food, or injuries, or vows. I see an opening, and I take it. Knives are good for finding kinks in the armor, and I make short work of the first man who showed his back to me. I am knocked over by the energy blast, too, but I am back on my feet before the others who struggle with their heavy armor. The next man dies when I slit his throat where he lies.

The last three have the sense to turn to face me. I am not wearing armor, so I am faster. But I am not wearing armor, so I am likely to be ripped open by a sword. A man with a bastard sword that looks too big to be swung one handed lunges at me with a predictably slow arc from right to left. All I have to do is leap out of the way for the Venatori to lose his balance and stumble forward. When he did I kick him into his advancing ally and they both fall in a heap. The last man tries to cut down at me and I step into his defence, catching his armored arm and stabbing into the gap in his tasset. The long blade finds his bowels and the man groans before falling over. 

By then the last two men are disentangled and lung at me one by one. But now I have a long sword and I am in my element. They are both dead in the span of a few breaths and I have a leisure of resting in the carnage. 

“Uh, Cullen…?” I hear and I snap my gaze back to the boulder where the Inquisitor was. He has fallen into a pile wist his hands on his stomach. There is blood on his arms. I curse out loud this time and try to scramble up the steep face of the rock.

“You idiot,” I say between clenched teeth, but I am less angry and more terrified. There is a knife protruding from Lavellan’s torso, just to the right of his stomach. One of the Venatori much have thrown it just before being knocked down. “You bloody idiot!”

He is apologizing to me as we limp back to the camp. I don’t even understand how he got to that spot in the first place. I curse him for leaving the camp. I curse him for trying to distract the Venatori. But I am still not angry. 

The knife is short, but cruel. The worst part is trying to get it out without making him bleed out. There is a way, and it is painful, so I muffle Lavellan with a glove. He tries not to scream when I take the knife out of his belly but he does anyway. The sound does not carry beyond the rock, but it is hard to listen to. I have only my clean shirt to bind the wound, and I resign myself to being a little more cold in nights to come.

Lavellan has, somehow, not passed out. He is covered in blood, pale, and shaking, but he is watching me silently. The wound, though painful, is not as dangerous as the cut on his leg, and thankfully that has not resumed bleeding. He is going to live, so I allow myself to be angry now.

“What were you thinking?!” I try not to yell. “You are not fit for battle. You are not even fit to walk the distance to that clearing. What were you thinking?!”

Lavellan looks away and I wonder if anyone could look so sorry without actually weeping. He doesn’t even try to defend himself. He knows he could have died just now, and doesn’t need me to tell him so. But I have to say something. I am too frightened and angry to stay silent.

“If you die, Lavellan,” I continue. “Do you know what happens if you die?” He isn’t responding so I continue. “Everything we have worked for will crumble. We will be leaderless and hopeless. You aren’t expendable, do you hear me? I can die. Lelianna can die. A whole score of soldiers could die, but we would still fight because you will be there to lead us. If you die…”

“You could lead us,” Lavellan finally says in a weak voice that showed how much pain he was really in. His hand is still holding the badly bandaged knife wound. He is panting, too. “You’re a commander. They would follow you. I would.” He drove the message home by looking straight at me with his lavender gaze.

I struggle to find words that could counter this heartfelt admission. I search his pained face, looking for some way to explain just how important he was. “Do you want to die?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. I take a breath to calm myself, but my stomach is still tight and my blood pressure high from the fight. “You can’t die. I won’t let you. Please don’t make my job so hard.”

Lavellan, miraculously, laughs. “Yes, Commander.” It could have been said as a joke, but looking at the Inquisitor’s face I knew he wasn’t making fun of me. I heard the phrase half a hundred times a day from my soldiers. Hearing it from him makes me realize that he really would follow me. I can feel my ears getting warm and I am forced to look away.

We have to stay at the makeshift camp longer, but the Inquisitor promises to stop going for walks around the perimeter. The knife wound pains him more than the leg, I assume, so he is happy to lie prone while I care for him.

The Venatori bodies I bury in a hidden spot. It is hard without a spade, so I mostly cover them with rocks to keep them from view. I ignored their equipment and armor, as my own are of better make, but I discover on them several potions and rations that are fresher than our own. I also take a Tevinter cotton shirt which is surprisingly well-made and replaces the one that I used to bind Lavellan’s wound. Another shirt I rip into strips that I would inevitably need the next time one of us got injured. 

When we settle in that night, Lavellan tells me why he was so near the clearing. “I am trying to regain my strength,” he says, and he manages to look abashed. “Ironically. I just thought the sooner we could leave, the better.”

I want to leave soon, too, but I am worried it is for different reasons than his. “Are you so sick of my company?” I ask, and I am only half joking. Lavellan does not reply and I am worried I said the wrong thing so I put some stale bread in my mouth.

“I assumed it was the other way around. It can’t be much fun being a nursemaid.” He sounds sad, but I can’t make out why. It makes me want to look at him but I am having trouble doing so without feeling awkward.

“Not just these past few days,” he goes on, and I have the feeling he is going to be more honest than I can handle. “I get along with people. I like the Inquisition. I like Varric and the Bull and Vivienne. They like me, too, I think. But I can’t help but think I sort of… ruined things with you.”

Sure enough, he’s gone too far. We have managed to get this far without bringing up that ineligant conversation weeks ago. And now, with nothing to distract or interrupt, I am going to be forced to talk about it. A strange, uncomfortable feeling is bubbling in my stomach and I shift my weight where I sit. I am looking out on the late evening forest. Lavellan is beside me and I can feel the warmth of his body though we are not touching. 

“I have lost no respect for you,” I say, and I am aware I am using my ‘commander’ voice again.

“I was… sort of hoping we could be friends,” Lavellan is saying. He winces as he shifts and I instinctively look over at him. 

“We are friends,” I say in defence. I put down my bread as I say this to offer him water from the flask.

Lavellan shakes his head, but I am not sure if he is denying my words or the water. “We don’t play chess anymore. We don’t meet outside the war room. You didn’t even join us for another game of wicked grace…”

“That,” I interrupted, because I have to. “Was because the Bull won’t stop commenting on… nevermind. I just can’t afford to play that game anymore.” I can seldom think about that event without feeling my ears turn red again. I try to put the thought out of my head again. 

Levellan laughs and it is a nice sound to hear. “We had good times, though. Can’t we go back to that?”

I don’t have a clear idea of why we stopped playing chess or cards. Was it because I felt too guilty? Was I trying not to lead Lavellan to think I was interested in him? Was I being selfish? Was I in denial?

The last thought sits in my mind until I swat it away like a freshly made spiderweb. It sticks and lingers longer than I would like it to. “How about a game of chess when we get back to the Hold?” I offer.

Lavellan takes the flask now and finishes the water inside. I can see he is trying to cover up the silly grin on his face. I have made him happier than he cares to admit. And, somehow, that makes me happy, too.

\-------------------------------------

After two days of not seeing any Venatori, we are starting to feel bold. Lavellan has promised not to walk around the camp without me, but when I am there is he desperate to practise walking. He is healing fast and I can’t deny him. It’s true that the sooner he can walk, the better. I can imagine the other advisors going crazy looking for us. Somehow, it makes me smile to think of Josephine worrying like a mother and Lelianna pretending to be cool and collected. 

I allow Lavellan to lean on me as we make a few rounds a day. He pushes himself hard each morning and afternoon, wearing himself out but apparently improving each time. The third day after his knife wound, with a brilliant blue sky and no Venatori in sight, he begs me to take him to the stream.

“I am a mess,” he pleads, and I don’t know what he is talking about because I probably always smell worse than he does. But I don’t have any reason to say ‘no’ and we head together to the stream. He is panting by the time I let him off my arm and onto the rocky shore. He barely collects his breath before he is stripping off his linens and leather. 

For some reason I am too embarrassed to watch him undress, or, Maker forbid, get undressed myself. I instead look up and down the stream, expecting to see a Venatori come around the bend. None appear, much like they haven’t appeared for the past few days.

“You waiting your turn?” Lavellan calls from the stream and I see that he is already waist deep.

“Don’t yell,” I chastise, but he only laughs. He is so happy, it is hard to deny him. He relishes the cold water, dipping his head and soaking his brown hair. His undercut is growing in on the side, and it practically sparkles in the sun. 

I take a moment to consider his health. He is thin, but it is hard to tell if that is not usual. Elven bodies are all bone and sinew and muscle. The fine lines on his back and arms betray rope-like muscles that are akin to the roots of a strong young tree. He looks like a wood nymph, and for a moment I stand perfectly still, as if any movement would spook him and he was disappear into thin air. I instead watch the rivulets of water creep down his neck and back. When he turns he is looking right at me and I find myself flushed in embarrassment. I look away and he dips into the water like nothing even happened.

I opt not to bathe that day, since I could make my own way to the stream. The way back is slower and by the time the Inquisitor is back at his pallet I think he is going to sleep. But he is smiling and I know what the sun and water must heal a Dalish better than any tonic. He stretches out with his hands behind his head and for a moment we just listen to the wind in the trees and the birds calling to one another.

“Maybe I should just stay here,” he says after a moment and at first I think he is serious. But he can’t be, so I let the comment slide. “I miss the woods. The travelling. The satisfaction of a swim in the stream after a long day. The taste of freshly caught meat.” His voice was trailing like someone lost in a dream.

“Do you prefer it to Skyhold?” I ask, a little concerned about the answer. 

“No,” Lavellan says after a moment’s consideration. “But after the war. When everything is said and done. I would like to spend some time in the wilds.”

“Will you go back to your clan?”

Lavellan shrugs at this. Obviously he hasn’t thought his scheme through. Maybe he didn’t think he was going to live that long. “Not much for me there. I will visit, but I have no ties. My family is at Skyhold.”

There was something sad and beautiful about that statement. Did I feel the same about that castle? It doesn’t take me long to realize that I do. I want to get back there for more reasons than one. “I could stay in Skyhold forever,” I admitted.

When I look at where Lavellan is lying I see he is watching me with those lavender eyes again. He is impossible to read in this moment. “You’re my family too, you know,” he says without a hint of reservation.

Why does that make me feel so good inside? My stomach is churning, not in an unpleasant way, and my heart is skipping. I look back over the sun dappled forest to hide the grin spreading across my face. How often did someone tell me what I was important to them? Not since I last saw my sisters and brother. Even now their faces are less familiar to me as the one I see here now.

It only occurs to me after we have settled to sleep that it might be too warm to share a bed tonight. After an hour of moving and peeling away layers I am forced to sit up and make the transition to my old sleeping spot. Lavellan, who is apparently also awake, suddenly grabs my arm.

“Stay.”

For a heartbeat I don’t know what to say. My stomach does a flip and my mouth goes dry. What in the Maker’s Name do I say to that?

Lavellan releases my arm as suddenly as he grabbed it and mumbles an apology. He sounds embarrassed, too. I still don’t know how to respond so I say nothing and crawl off on my own. My own confused thoughts keep me from falling asleep for a long time.

\--------------------------

The next morning the Inquisitor wants to leave. He is standing on his own, leaning on a makeshift walking stick. He is wearing half of his armor and has the rest tied in a bundle that I insist on carrying for him. I try to convince him to stay one more day, but he is determined. I can’t help but think it is because of me that he wants to get away. I let this thought fester unspoken while we prepare to set out in the approximate direction of the nearest Inquisition outpost.

We move slow to the point of frustration. Lavellan never complains, but he doesn’t have to. He is white as a sail by the end of the first hour and I force him to stop for a rest. We are too far now to head back and I haven’t seen any other good places to make camp, so after some water, elfroot and a bite to eat we keep moving.

After two hours, we stop again and it painfully obvious that the Inquisitor is nearly at the end of his rope. “This is ridiculous,” I say, venting some of my frustration.

“Just give me a moment,” Lavellan says in between pants. “I just… need to catch my breath.”

“No, we are stopping,” I say firmly, already looking around for a slightly less obvious place to make camp. 

“No,” Lavellan says in his own commanding voice. “We keep going. It is only a day’s journey to the nearest outpost. We can make it.”

“Not at this rate,” I all but growl. “And the next time we stop you are probably going to pass out.” 

“You need to listen to me,” Lavellan says, but it is hard to take him seriously when he can barely stand. “I am the Inquisitor.”

“You need to listen to me,” I bark, like I am talking to a junior soldier. “You are tired, weak and injured. You are in no fit condition to travel and I am not going to carry you. Just…” I feel myself giving in to my frustration and I run my hands through my hair to try to calm down. “Will you just let me take care of you?!”

Lavellan is scowling but he does not protest, so I take the cue to continue my search for a camp site. I find something: a half burrow in the stream bank that we had been following. It wasn’t much, but it would keep us from the line of sight in most directions. I get back to Lavellan and take him roughly with my free hand. He lets me pull him to the stream and obediently sits on a rock while I drop the bundles and take out a bandage. Sure enough, he has opened the wound on his stomach and he is bleeding.

“We never should have moved you,” I muttered as I gently lift his shirt to check the damage. 

“I just…” Lavellan suddenly sounds like he is about to cry. I don’t want to look, but I raise my gaze to his face anyway. I have never seen him cry-- I don’t think anyone has. “I just want to go back to Skyhold.” He is holding it together for now, but he is in bad shape. I try to imagine how he feels: tired, hungry and in pain. I stand up to prepare the new bandage and calm down.

“Me too,” I say like someone talking to a startled horse. “But we can stand a few more days of rest, can’t we?”

“Can you?”

I stop unwinding the bandage from my pack and look the Inquisitor in the face. “What do you mean?”

Lavellan looks away, trying to blink back tears. He suddenly looks so young with his slender shoulder hunched forward as he bites his lip. I reach down to his face involuntarily, and stop just short of touching his cheek. Then he looks up at me with wet lavender eyes and I go to pieces. I have to kneel down and pull the pathetic leader of the Inquisition into a hug because it's the only thing that’s right. “I can stand it,” is all I can think to say. Lavellan drops his head on my shoulder and I can feel his chest heaving deeply, as if he is trying to control himself. 

When he pulls away he is forcing a smile. “It’s OK,” he says, clearing his throat to remove the last of his sorrow. “I’m OK. It was a stupid decision. We stay here for now and re-evaluate in the morning, right?”

“Is this normal?” I ask and I feel a grin pulling at one corner of my mouth. “Are you walking around, holding in all these emotions, barely keeping yourself from falling into a puddle of self-loathing?”

Lavellan blinks in surprise. “How did you know?”

I fully grin now. “Because it’s the same for me.” The Inquisitor smiles at this: a real, genuine smile. If feels so good to see that smile. I kiss him, because I am in the moment and I am not thinking about what I do before I do it. When I pull away I have had the time to realize what I did and I feel the rush of embarrassment. I put a gloved hand over the mouth that betrayed me.

Lavellan is looking at his wide eyed as if I stabbed him in the stomach, only he doesn’t look like he is pain. His cheeks are red and he opens his mouth as if he is going to say something funny to gloss over the incident but he doesn’t. Instead we stare at each other for an unforgivable amount of time.

“Sorry,” I blurt finally, taking a step back and turning away. I look at the surroundings, having completely forgot that they were there. The stream is trickling away and the sun is bearing down on the rock and there are a few distant crows calling in the forest. 

“Who’s the one holding in emotions now?” asks Lavellan and thank the Maker he did because at that moment I needed to laugh at myself. He joins in and we spend a few, precious moments laughing at this ridiculous situation. When we’re done, it’s clear that we have to get back to the business of redressing the wound and finding food. I do all this while trying not to make eye contact with the Inquisitor because if I do, I don’t know what will happen.

What’s most likely is I will kiss him again. I know that now, as I try to focus on the little fish that I am attempting to smoke. Everytime I look at him I will want to kiss him, because the one time wasn’t enough. I levy was broken inside of me, and I was doing all I could to hold it back. After all, what was he thinking of me? At one time he might have welcomed the advances, but now, in the wilds of northern Ferelden, was this really the time or the place?

We eat without talking much, only to make fun of my poor fishing skills. I want to talk about the kiss-- I want to understand it. I feel like Lavellan would understand and explain to me exactly what I was experiencing. But maybe he is just confused, and that was why he is also avoiding eye contact. It has been too long since I have shared a moment like this with anyone. I forget how it works: do I move slowly or do I wait? If I wait, will I be waiting forever? 

The sun is setting and I watch it over the trees. We have a few moments left of sunlight on our faces before the night will fall. After a moments of peaceful silence, I realize Lavellan is watching me. “Cullen,” he says and my heart jumps at the word.

“Inquisitor?” I curse myself right away for the formal greeting, and I catch an annoyed look cross the elf’s face.

“You can call me ‘Jhurras’. I don’t understand why no one ever does.”

It’s hard to say it at first. I look at him sitting beside me on a fallen log by the stream and fight my impulses harder than ever. “Jhurras.”

The effect on the Inquisitor is immediate. In the last of the light I can see him turn red from neck to hair and on each pointed ear. It makes me want to say it again.

“Jhurras…” This time he parts his lips very slightly and I can tell he is holding his breath. I reach over and put my hand on his jaw and thumb slowly running over the stumble on his cheek. “Jhurras.” It’s a wonder he isn’t passing out, between the flushed face and the caught breath. I could stop and give him some respite: maybe look away or change the subject. But he is watching me with eyes that are slowly glazing over. The only movement he makes is to slowly wet his lower lip. 

I can’t hold back any longer: I pull his face towards me and kiss him gently. Then I kiss him again, slower, but more deliberately. The third time I slowly open my mouth because I want to taste between his lips. He parts his easily and our tongues meet gingerly. A small moan escapes Lavellan’s mouth and I have to pull back for breath because I realize my body is responding much faster than my brain.

Both of us are breathing again and I need a moment to collect my thoughts. We are alone in the woods, stranded together in an intimate setting. There is no getting away, and no changing the subject. There is nothing, short of a Venatori attack, to derail what is happening. My mind feels foggy, but there is a voice in there that is warning me to slow down.

“I,” Lavellan starts with only a pause. “I am bleeding.”

Sure enough, his wound has opened again. I did a poor job patching him up and he needed more elfroot to pack the wound. That, I realize, is what the voice is saying in the back of my mind. The Inquisitor is tired, injured and probably thinking less clear than I am. “I’m sorry,” I say at once, looking around for where I put the bandages.

“Cullen,” Lavellan is continuing while I fumble with the supplies. “I think we should continue this at Skyhold.” I quickly look up to meet his gaze. 

“This?”

“I mean, whatever this is. We should talk about it later. When we’re safe. Maybe… maybe in my room.” He isn’t looking at me when I say this and I think he’s blushing harder, if it was possible. My cheeks are warm, too, and other parts of me. Suddenly I am eager to go to sleep so we can get moving the next day. Of course, there was the issue of sleep…

“I’ll sleep over here,” I say, indicating a soft bit of soil not far from the burrow. 

“Good idea.”

“After I, uh, patch you up.”

“Yes, and let's keep it that way.” I try not to imagine what things might cause the bandage to come loose again and instead opted for a cold bath before going to sleep for the night. Just before settling in, Lavellan motions for me to come to his spot in the burrow. It looks like it had been half dug out by a bear or some other large creature. It was surprisingly dry and cozy, though it only covered the sleeper on two sides. 

“Goodnight, Cullen,” says Lavellan in a formal voice. Then he kissed me and it was all I could do not to return the favour with gusto.

“Goodnight, Jhurras.” I savour the look of embarrassment on the Inquisitor’s face before crawling away to my own, lonely sleeping spot. I sleep well and have very, very good dreams.

\---------------------------

It’s Scout Harding that finds us the next day. She and three other scouts come upon us just as we are leaving our streambank camp. She is so happy she nearly cries, though she seems even less likely to shed a tear than the Inquisitor. They found the dead Venatori up the stream, they tell us. Someone did not hide them very well. 

She also tells us that the Venatori had been completely wiped out in the area in an attempt to find us: which explains why we saw none of them the past few days. They also reveal a cloth stretcher that they brought in the case of bodies. Lavellan is happy to take full advantage of the luxury and with the extra hands we make it to the outpost in less than a day.

While it is not the same as a real bed, the tent and bedroll we had there felt like feather pillows compared to the hard, wet ground of the forest. After sleeping for a day, we mount horses and ride for Skyhold. Harding offers to ride with Lavellan because of his injuries, and we are all relieved that he agrees. I ride directly behind them, watching the Inquisitor carefully for signs of fatigue. After the disasters of the last week, I am half expecting a rogue arrow to shoot Lavellan dead, but nothing befalls us and we get back to the Hold unscathed and tired.

After that it is days of backlogged work. With both the Inquisitor and the Commander gone for almost a week, the Hold was in chaos. My lieutenant was barely keeping up with the requests flooding in for Inquisition troops and had put off the most major of decisions in hopes that I would miraculously come back. The first day back I stay up all night completing paperwork.

Meanwhile the mother hens are flitting around the Inquisitor all the waking hours. Varric is possibly the most mothering of them all, and stands around commanding servants to get things for Lavellan, even if he doesn’t want them. The most annoying to watch is Dorian who redoubled his efforts to court the Inquisitor-- this time in full view of the entire Hold. I can’t help but assume he has an ulterior motive, but I am likely just prejudice against the Tevinter. 

And he is flirting with the Inquisitor, which I cannot forgive.

So, the first free night I have I inform Lavellan, in front of several of his companions, that he done recuperating and is expected at the war table that evening. While most cower before my commander’s voice, I can see the Dorian is not entirely convinced. I don’t care, because I want him to know that he can’t take what’s mine without a fight.

“He told me he has feelings for me,” Lavellan is telling me as we walk together to the war room. “He thinks I am worth fighting for… and that I am smart… oh, and handsome, too!”

“I’m sure you loved that,” I say, trying not to sound annoyed. Then I stop and look at him because I can’t read him without looking him full in the face. “Did you love it?”

Lavellan is grinning in a way that makes me uncomfortable. “You mean, do I like when people compliment me? Because I think the answer is obvious.”

“I mean,” I say, a little more annoyed now. “Do you like his compliments. Are you… interested in him?” I’ve never been very good at subtlety. Especially when it came to these sorts of relationships.

“Not at all,” the Inquisitor says without a second thought. “Now, if you were to--”

“You are perfect,” I say at once, because if I don’t I might become too embarrassed to say it. “Intelligent, strong, kind and a better person than me.” I take his hand and squeeze it quickly. 

“Go on,” says Lavellan with a grin. 

“And stubborn and self-indulgent,” I retort, but I am not angry. I pull him towards me. He is a little shorter than me so I can see over the top of his head. I have to lift his chin a little to kiss him properly. We stay like this for a moment, until we can hear footsteps in the hall beyond. 

“Are we really going to the war room?” Lavellan asks, looking a little disappointed at the big oaken door that led to the war table.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I retort, as I lead him to a side door to the staircase below the Inquisitor’s room. I had to break the lock on the other side to make it useable. “After you.”

**Author's Note:**

> What fluffy nonsense.
> 
> Comment if you can still breathe.
> 
> SORRY DORIAN I STILL LOVE YOU.
> 
> EDIT: [WANT TO SEE MY INQUISITOR BB??](http://i.imgur.com/KiOqLfd.png)


End file.
